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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957817">steel your heart.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/esquitor/pseuds/esquitor'>esquitor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the night is long (and the path is dark); [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Companion Lavellan (Dragon Age), Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Gen, Groundhog Day, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Time Travel Fix-It, Trans Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Trans Male Character, prior knowledge recommended, some headcanon stuff regarding Dalish Customs, the major character death is just lavellan dying a lot, time travel wreck-it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:57:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/esquitor/pseuds/esquitor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>turns out letting alexius do his time magic thingy without restraint <i>does</i> have a long lasting effect on the fade, the world, and reality in general. mainly in sending mahanon lavellan back to the past. several times.</p><p>maybe he'll actually make it to skyhold at some point.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Inquisitor/Sera, Minor or Background Relationship(s), implied Blackwall/Josephine Montilyet, implied/past Female Inquisitor/Blackwall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the night is long (and the path is dark); [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>steel your heart.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>originally wanted this to go with the rest of the fic, but it got so long that i decided to just make it a standalone one-shot/prequel/prologue/whatever. there will be a continuation! the shit continues.</p><p>anyway the premise is i have a thing for groundhog day / repeat life / quasi immortality and what it does to someone so here's mahanon failing Really Bad at being herald a few times. also known as back-to-back 'ouch' until something finally cracks.</p><p>prior knowledge of the game recommended because MASSIVE SPOILERS and also i only pull a handful of dialogue/scenes directly from the game because i don't think rewriting cutscenes is fun. not recommended for someone unfamiliar with the original timeline. i haven't romanced sera before (yet) so i don't know what the dynamic between her and f!inq is or should be. whatever. it is what it is.</p><p>enjoy!</p><p>«» indicates dalish elvish, which kind of contains roots from ancient elvish but like also a lot of other shit since the dalish went through a lot of shit. other translations at the end.</p><p><b>edit:</b> fixed the part bout wycome bc i missed the part where the chantry burns their dead instead of burying</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He is assertive and brash. Hot-headed, as they say. It is his only excuse.</p><p>Desperate, also.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>"Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet," the one in ruffles tells him. Josephine. Probably. "The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and you specifically."</p><p>"Sorry, <i>what</i>?"</p><p>"Some are calling you the Herald of Andraste for closing that rift. And given that you are both Dalish.. and a mage..." She seems composed enough, but he can tell that she knows it's thin ice being tread on. "..It frightens them. They are calling it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you."</p><p>"<i>Herald of</i>—" Mahanon pinches the bridge of his nose. The mountain air might have been clear and refreshing but it's also cold as <i>balls</i> and gave him a stinging headache that's been here since he woke up. He pulls his fur-trimmed cloak closer. "..Yeah. I can see why they're offended. <i>I'm</i> offended. "</p><p>Ruffles withholds a wince. "I wouldn't say <i>offended</i>— concerned, perhaps—"</p><p>"People don't cry <i>blasphemy</i> and mean it unless they're offended. Personal experience," Mahanon says snidely. And then adds, "<i>Ambassador</i>," as an afterthought.</p><p>She looks trite, but doesn't press the issue.</p><p>"What is your name?" asks the Spymaster. "We would have used 'Herald', respectfully, but given your dislike for the title..."</p><p>He responds, crisply, "'Mahanon' is fine."</p><p>"Mahanon, then." If she has issue with his tone, it doesn't show. "Though the mages and templars will not speak with us, there <i>is</i> still something you can do."</p><p>He has a bad feeling about this.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>The mark on his hand twinges. It does not behave.</p><p>It spreads like a fungus, eating into his very bones in a way that's only observable with the eyes. There's nothing to heal, and Solas can only slow it down so much. Every spasm is just another reminder that <i>he doesn't have time for this.</i></p><p>After a few days in the Hinterlands, going to Val Royeaux, simpering at Orlesian nobles, and beating the bush around Redcliffe, Mahanon decided enough was enough. There's no use trying to get them to help, he's dying as it is. Might as well use what's left of his life to get in one last hurrah.</p><p>Cassandra scowls the entire way up to the temple ruins. Cullen is pale and nervous, pacing like mad.</p><p>"Won't work", he mutters again and again under his breath, even though they're already here. "Power out of control like that..."</p><p>"We need more," Leliana counters. She said her piece and doesn't bother trying to convince them otherwise.</p><p>Josephine stopped playing peacemaker between them and won't talk to Mahanon at all. She's not even here.</p><p>The Breach is grand and massive, a gaping hole in the sky with a rift cluster situated conveniently beneath it within easy reach. Relatively speaking, easy.</p><p>Mahanon lifts his hand. The Mark sears deep into his skin, under his flesh and within his bones. It feels ancient.</p><p>It is killing him.</p><p>"You’re sure this will work?"</p><p>Solas nods, grim. "It must."</p><p>"That’s reassuring." Mahanon focuses. The line drawn between him and the Breach is visible and tangible, a string pulled taut and tight. Is it connected to the Breach itself? Or beyond it? Into it? "..If I die, you can just cut my arm off and wave that around. Seems to have the same effect."</p><p>"Based on the one piece of evidence," Solas remarks, brows raised ever so slightly. "And, I presumed, influenced by your intention to seal the rift. Was that not the case?"</p><p>"I was too busy wondering why you were holding my hand at a hole in the air."</p><p>Solas tips his head. "Shall I hold your hand this time as well?"</p><p>Mahanon laughs.</p><p>They’re different. Different types of elves. Solas’ face is clean of <i>vallas'lin</i> and he is proud of that. Mahanon wears it, June’s, and he’s just as proud of it. Their magic is different, similar in that they are not Circle-based, yet still divergent.</p><p>But in the end, they are elves. That’s what matters. To Mahanon, anyway. It's been lonely after his companions died in the explosion. Lonely and frustrating.</p><p>He looks around. The Seeker is to his right, pretending she can't hear their fatalist conversation. The Spymaster is in the shadows, arrows poised and at the ready. The Commander is directing the straggling Inquisition forces around in case another demon pops out.</p><p>"Here we go," he says loudly so that they all understand, and breathes out. "You've all been briefed on what’s going to happen, so don’t come crying to me about it later. If I survive."</p><p>"Don’t jinx yourself," Cassandra says, terse. "There's still work to be done after."</p><p>"Too late."</p><p>With a surge of intent, magic floods through him and into the mark. Pain erupts in his hand, carving its way through him, bleeds <i>out</i> of him, out of every vein in his arms. Whatever the line is connected to over there, he’s on the other end of it here. He <i>is</i> the other end of it.</p><p>He is the end of it. He will be.</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>...</p><p>
  <i>...not.... power...</i>
</p><p>...</p><p>..<i>not enough power</i>...</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>« ...<i>hren</i>... »</p><p>Warm. A bit damp. Scratchy cloth on his skin—</p><p>« <i>Hahren</i>.... Mahanon, wake up. »</p><p>He sits up. Someone has a hand on his shoulders, an elf— that servant girl? Does she know his name? She could barely look him in the eye let alone say his name—</p><p>« Rasha? » His voice croaks. Cracks, but he won’t admit that. « What... »</p><p>« Get <i>up</i>, <i>eral’din</i>. » She throws open the flap so that sunlight can burn itself into Mahanon’s eyes. « The sun’s up, we have to keep moving. »</p><p>« Moving <i>what?</i> Where? »</p><p>« Creators, what did you drink last night? Hey! » She turns around and shouts to- to the rest of the camp, he supposes. « Who brought the strong stuff and didn’t share? »</p><p>Someone murmurs a response, and someone else giggles.</p><p>« He needed it, Rasha. The ship made him sick. »</p><p>The ship. <i>The ship.</i> The—</p><p>Mahanon pats himself down, making sure all parts are where they are, and crawls out of the tent. It's morning, accompanied by the smell of wood and damp soil. Birds. There aren't many birds in the Frostbacks, which means—</p><p>« <i>Finally.</i> » Rasha throws a leather pack at him, which he catches. It's his own. No longer scorched and scratched by magic and wolves, it smells of <i>feladara</i> and mushrooms, instead of iron and spindleweed. « Hurry up, Mahanon. At this rate, the Conclave will be over by the time you finish eating. You do remember that much at least, right? »</p><p>The Conclave. The Conclave? It hasn't happened yet?</p><p>Mahanon stands and looks around. There are no landmarks in the woods around their campsite, but he recognizes it as one of many they made on the way down from the Free Marches. Would make? Did they just hit land after crossing the Waking Sea? Where were they now?</p><p>« Ma<i>hanon</i>! » A piece of bread conks him on the head. He picks it up and dusts it off before taking a bite. The who threw it tosses him another one, and this time he catches it. « Pack up and eat on the road. »</p><p>« Why are you giving orders to the Keeper's First? » he mutters around a mouthful of bread. He starts taking down the tarp being used for the shared tent, since he was the last one in it.</p><p>« Being First doesn't mean you know how to lead a travel party," says Rasha, now cloaked in dark greens. « You overslept. A <i>lot</i>. »</p><p>His movements falter just a bit. « ...Sorry. Bad dreams, I think. »</p><p>That brings heads up around the camp from those just finishing their packing.</p><p>« Bad dreams? » Rasha walks up to him, looking him over. « Stop joking, Mahanon. Mages don't have bad dreams. »</p><p>« Maybe. » He folds up the tarp in order to hide his shaking hands. Haven was so cold. (Wasn't it?) « Maybe I've just been thinking too much about the Conclave... I dreamt that it ended badly. »</p><p>« Badly, <i>hahren</i>? » One of the younger hunters, Shoran, leans over. « Badly as in 'they make up and start hunting elves instead'? Or badly as in 'nothing gets fixed and in fact gets a whole lot worse'? »</p><p>« As in 'the temple exploded' and we all died. »</p><p>Not necessarily in that order.</p><p>The silence is eerie. Mahanon busies himself with compacting the tarp into to fit into one of the packs in an attempt to ignore their questioning looks.</p><p>« Wow, » Shoran says with a nervous chuckle. « That sure is some dream. »</p><p>« I know, right? » Mahanon shakes his head. « Blowing up the Temple... as if anyone would do that. Or <i>could</i>. »</p><p>Adahleni, the other hunter, hums loudly, contemplating something. « The <i>shem'len</i> blew up their own Chantry once, didn't they? Kirkwall, remember? »</p><p>Mahanon is tempted to lob his leftover bread at her. « <i>Fen'Harel ver na!</i> »</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>He makes the paste by grinding a piece of charcoal normally used for poisons from his pack, mixing it with <i>feladara</i> juice— squeezed from the herbs that the elf girl dropped before she fled. For binding, and a few drops of lampwax, and some of his own blood.</p><p>Charcoal for toxins. <i>Feladara</i> for healing. And blood, for connection.</p><p>Mahanon dips his fingers into the paste, covering his upper lip (they mean much to me) and putting a divot on the lower one (i grieve, but i will survive). Swipes a line across the bottom lid with his littlest finger (lost sleep). Then he draws a line from the lid down his cheeks, fading as it reaches his jaw, not quite all the way.</p><p>(i will weep for them, for a time)</p><p>The elf girl tiptoes in again, likely after seeing no trace of him in the past few minutes.</p><p>"..My lord?" He doesn't respond. "Lady.. Lady Cassandra said 'at once'. Please, if you don't, they.."</p><p>"They'll what? Hurt you?" He turns just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye. "Punish <i>you</i> because I'm taking too long? I'll make sure they don't."</p><p>"I can take a message," she says meekly. Just as timid as he remembers. Or dreamt. "Let them know.. Will it be long? What shall I tell her?"</p><p>"Come here, <i>da'lan</i>." He waves a hand over, same as he did last time (or in his dream). "There's no mirror, I'll need you to draw in my eyebrows."</p><p>"Draw— draw them in? My lord, I don't.. I don't know how."</p><p>"I'm not a lord. Here, like this." Mahanon takes a piece of charcoal, not yet ground, and draws the shape on a piece of paper nearby, the one Adan had written his healer's notes on. "Then use this to fill them in. Can you do that, <i>da'lan</i>?"</p><p>She hesitates. Eventually, she comes back inside, light on her feet, and eases the door shut. There's a crowd outside, he knows. He won't face them yet.</p><p>"I.. I can try, my— ser." The girl studies the drawing for a moment. Then she holds up the paper next to his face and uses the charcoal to copy the shape onto his brows. </p><p>He notices that she seems to be glancing back and forth at him for other reasons. Like she has something she wants to ask, or say, but habit has stopped per from doing so.</p><p>"..Is something wrong, <i>da'lan</i>?"</p><p>"Oh, no!" She nearly drops the charcoal in surprise. "No, I.. I was only thinking."</p><p>"About?"</p><p>"You don't— you don't look that old, ser." She recoils just a little, as though fearing his response. "When you called me <i>da'lan</i>, I mean. You don't look old."</p><p>Normally he would follow up with a quip, about his age, about how good he <i>knows</i> he looks. If it were Rasha, or another one of his peers.</p><p>This time he says, "People say that a lot for some reason." It seems to calm her down enough to come back in and finish filling in his brows with the paste.</p><p>"I— I don't know how good it is. I'm sorry, I'm not very... it's not what I do." The girl takes a step back, wiping her hands on her pants. She looks nervous, then confused. Then, "...It makes you look very sad, ser. Is— is that alright?"</p><p>"It is," Mahanon says. His throat feels as tight as he sounds, standing on the edge of— of feeling something. Using magic, he quickly sets the black marks on his face so they don't stain or rub off for a few days. That should hide the redness from all the crying he did. Nothing for his shaky breathing, though. "And I am. I'm very sad."</p><p>(i am distraught)</p><p>"Did you know someone?" she asks, wringing her hands together. "At the.. From the Conclave."</p><p>She asks this, knowing about the <i>vallas'lin</i> he wears, knowing that no Dalish would have been invited to attend.</p><p>"I did," he answers. Knowing that anything he admits might make its way up to Leliana and the others, and then he'd have to explain what he was really doing at the Temple with a party of Dalish elves. "We all did. Did you, <i>da'lan</i>?"</p><p>She looks down, lips quivering, but doesn't reply. There had likely been elves there, too, from the cities. Serving and taking on menial jobs for quick pay, and certainly some among the mages attending. Whether she knew any of them is her story to tell.</p><p>Mahanon throws on his coat, the one he'd brought specifically for Frostback's weather, glad that it survived the explosion again. It's not too warm, made more for warmer winters, but it's still more than what the elf girl is wearing. Maybe city elves just get more used to the cold, like the <i>shem'len</i>. The Chantry people aren't dressed much warmer.</p><p>He sweeps his hair to one side, boldly showing off the shaved scalp and one of his ears. He'd left it down last time (in his dream).</p><p>"<i>'At once'</i>, then," he says, as calmly as he's able. He isn't as angry as he was last time (in his dream). Except he is. Only now, he has something to aim it at instead of everyone else. "Let's not keep Lady Cassandra waiting."</p><p>Himself.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>
  <i>not enough power</i>
</p><p>
  <i>not enough power</i>
</p><p>
  <i>need more power</i>
</p><p>« <i>Eolasan</i>. »</p><p>"What?" </p><p>Mahanon blinks.</p><p>The Commander is looking at him oddly. "Did you say something?"</p><p>"No, nothing," Mahanon lies, smoothly. "So. Mages."</p><p>"The templars," the Commander starts.</p><p>Mahanon wants to pick up one of these war table pieces and throw it at him. If he thinks the templars are such a good idea, he can just go ahead and contact them himself! <i>Especially</i> if he was a templar, they would listen to him even more! Not <i>Mahanon</i>, the <i>Dalish mage</i>. What an absurd idea!</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>not enough power</i>
  </b>
</p><p>"Mages!" Mahanon smacks the war table in the middle of the Commander's regaling of a templar's qualifications. "You can contact the templars if you want, Commander, but I agree with Leliana. We need more power. Magic, I mean, to close the Breach. Not <i>power</i> power."</p><p>"Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet," says Ruffles, and Mahanon tries not to sigh really loudly.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>"So how'd you convince them to go for the mages, Glimmer?"</p><p>Mahanon never did manage to figure out why Varric called him <i>Glimmer</i>, and to be honest, he never thought to ask either. Yet. It's not important.</p><p>"I, um." Mahanon coughs. "Didn't."</p><p>"..Well, color me impressed! Lookit you, going behind Cassandra's back." Varric chuckles, shaking his head. "Is that why she isn't with us?"</p><p>"That a good idea, keeping it from her?" Blackwall asks. "Sounds like this Cassandra person is pretty high up."</p><p>"It's five of us on a seesaw, really. Actually it's them four, and they keep pulling me up there with them to break the ties. Also, I don't think Cassandra was opposed to the mages."</p><p>Varric seems to find that hard to believe. "Oh. <i>Huh</i>."</p><p>Val Royeaux had been a shitshow. All the posturing and perfume, the arrows being used to send messages, party invitations... the templar clocking a Chantry Mother in the head. He would've said something about <i>mages</i> never punching Chantry in the head, but then he remembered Kirkwall, which was very much worse. Though, to be fair no one was really <i>punched</i>, so technically....</p><p>...No, still a bad rebuttal.</p><p>The point is that whatever little confidence Mahanon had in <i>maybe</i> enlisting the remaining templars fled with whatever thought had been in that Chantry Mother's head before she was knocked down. Not a lick of confidence left in him, no matter how disappointed the Commander looked when he heard about it. At least the rebel mages extended an invitation.</p><p>So. Redcliffe it was. Redcliffe and a very, <i>very</i> wonky Fade rift sitting nicely right in front of the gate. Were there still new rifts opening? Didn't they all open at the same time? How did anyone leave the village like this?</p><p>Creators, he hoped new rifts weren't just opening as they liked. He'd never finish closing them all.</p><p>"Mages, huh," Varric remarks, kicking at the ground where one of those wonky rift circles had been. "Can this be blamed on mages?"</p><p>"Depends." Mahanon shrugs. Redcliffe's gates are taking a long time to open. "If this is just what Fade rifts do when holes are punched in the Veil, particularly giant gaping.. holes. Then, no? You can't blame a mage for what the Fade decides to do."</p><p>Varric turns to him, looking quite put-out, but (probably) in good humor. "Can't I?"</p><p>"I agree," Solas says, "with the Herald—"</p><p>"Mahanon."</p><p>"—With Mahanon." A side glance is thrown in his direction, but Solas continues without missing a beat. "The Fade can be unpredictable in and of itself. A tear in the Veil, causing this unpredictable nature to leak into and mingle with our reality? No one person can be at fault for what it does here, no matter how much we might dislike it."</p><p>"Except the one who blew up the Temple," Mahanon adds.</p><p>Blackwall grunts in agreement. "Thought you said you didn't know who blew up the Temple."</p><p>"We saw them, we just don't know who it is. Some lanky thing with the red eyes. He was like <i>this</i> tall." Mahanon makes a show of raising his arms and doing his best impression of a giant looming creature at Blackwall. He isn't very tall to begin with, and Blackwall doesn't look impressed. "He's definitely at fault. He killed the Divine, he has to be at fault."</p><p>"Really, Glimmer? You care about the Divine?"</p><p>Mahanon levels Varric with a flat look. "I'll care my <i>vallas'lin</i> off if it stops people from blaming <i>my</i> People for it."</p><p>Solas' face scrunches up in a way that Mahanon can't tell if he's frowning or trying not to laugh. Hopefully the latter. His laugh is nice and soft on the ears.</p><p>"<i>'Care my vallaslin off...'</i>.. that's a good one." Varric chuckles. "I wonder if Daisy's heard that one before."</p><p>"Daisy?"</p><p>"Uh, friend of mine. Dalish. From Kirkwall. From the book?" A pause. "You <i>have</i> read the book, haven't you?"</p><p>"Oh! From clan Sabrae?" Mahanon nods idly. "I know the Sabraes, we're neighbors."</p><p>"What, really?"</p><p>"No, not really, we're at opposite ends of the Free Marches." Mahanon's lips twitch when Varric laughs. "And I haven't read the book."</p><p>"What a shame! I won't tell you how it ends, then."</p><p>"Oh, please, I'm <i>dying</i> to know."</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>"So, I must ask—"</p><p>"Must you?"</p><p>"Absolutely! ...Well." Dorian of House Pavus Most Recently of Minrathous shifts his staff from hand to hand. his gaze lingering in the direction Felix left in. The air still smells of demon dust. "I must, but you needn't answer, if it's.. Those, the— don't get me wrong, I <i>love</i> the look. But is there some deeper meaning behind it?"</p><p>Dorian gestures around his eyes and then to his mouth, pressing a hand to his chest afterward.</p><p>"You look so very sombre in it, Herald."</p><p>"Mahanon."</p><p>Dorian blinks. "Sorry?"</p><p>"Call me Mahanon."</p><p>"Ah. Duly noted. So? Makeup? Bold statement? Drawing attention to your <i>very lovely</i> dark eyes?"</p><p>"A bold statement," Mahanon says too firmly. "For those who care to look."</p><p>"Oh I <i>do</i> care to look. What sort of statement would that be, I wonder?" Dorian strokes his chin, arms crossed in thought. He, too, does not press the issue. "How do you keep it from rubbing off?"</p><p>Mahanon wiggles his fingers at Dorian's face. "<i>Boom.</i>"</p><p>The Tevinter's answering laughter is a lighthearted ending to the otherwise somber revelation that Alexius is <i>playing with time <b>fenedhis</b> what is he <b>thinking</b>—</i></p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>"It's not really a bold statement, is it?" Varric asks that evening at the camp. "I know a lying elf when I see it. Your ears twitch. Well, Daisy's did, anyway."</p><p>Mahanon and Solas both find their ears twitching at that. They share a look with each other that says <i>'oh no, not this again, do we tell him that it's normal for ears to twitch or do we just twitch them every chance we get to confuse him'</i>.</p><p>"It's <i>bold</i>, certainly, and I won't lie, it looks pretty striking on you, Glimmer. But I don't think you're the type to draw sad-looking eyebrows on yourself just to make a statement. The corner's flaking off, by the way."</p><p>"It does that."</p><p>"Why do you call him Glimmer anyway?" Blackwall throws another piece of wood into the fire.</p><p>"He's a healer. You're a healer, aren't you? A Spirit Healer? I knew one once, back in..." Varric clears his throat. "Didn't bring it up earlier because I don't know how Cassandra would've reacted to you, being.. elf. Dalish, and stuff.  Anyway, I recognized the magic a little. A bit shiny, glow, sparkly. Glimmer-y."</p><p>Blackwall goes thoughtful. Probably trying to recall any instance when Mahanon might have healed him on the sly without letting him know. "And you didn't pick any of the others to use because...?"</p><p>"Shiny? Glowy? <i>Sparkly</i>? With that face and that makeup? Terrible fit. 'Glimmer' has a quiet feel to it... Soft, you know? Like steel. Kind of like hope and death rolled up in one." Varric chuckles to himself. "So, bold statement? Or were you just jerking that mage's staff? If it's one of those <i>the humans mustn't find out</i> things, it's fine."</p><p>"I can cover my ears," Blackwall says. "Stuff my beard in them, once I clean the food out."</p><p>"And that's why I don't have a beard, Hero."</p><p>Mahanon glances at Solas, who stands a little further from the camp than one usually does. He's surprised Solas hasn't just crawled into his tent in an attempt to get away from them. That would be too overt.</p><p>But this time, Solas catches his look. His shoulders lift just a tad, the barest hint of a <i>'it's your customs not mine'</i> shrug.</p><p>True enough. Whatever kind of elf Solas claims to be, he isn't Dalish.</p><p>"In my clan, it is <i>vallas'belathe</i>," Mahanon says, slowly. Varric perks up, no doubt at the familiar word, and Solas goes still. "Other clans I've heard call it <i>ithast'belathe</i>. It's.. not commonly known among outsiders. Some clans don't even use them, and those that do usually don't wear it away from the clan."</p><p>"Vallaslin, that's, uh.. blood writing, right? The tattoos for your gods, the Creators. I heard that from Daisy." Mahanon nods to confirm, though Solas makes an odd little noise in his Lonely Corner that no one questions. Varric squints. "Maybe my eyes are bad, but I don't see the 'writing' part. For either one."</p><p>"It's our word for a complex design. It's.. not easy doing it alone. I don't exactly have the time to write on my own face, so I had to... simplify it." He wonders how best to parse the meaning of it. "..It is usually drawn on, or by, the loved ones of the deceased."</p><p>The fire crackles quietly. Blackwall, frozen in the midst of grabbing a cloth to wipe his sword down, looks as though he's been made privy to a sacred secret.</p><p>Varric, too, is quieter. "..'Belathe' means..?"</p><p>"Grief," Mahanon says, through a tightened jaw. "Mourning. Particularly regarding loss, or... death. <i>Ithast'bbelathe</i> is... strictly translated, it means.. 'the sight of grief'. The.. markings, make grief more— more apparent. It's, um.. what's the word— <i>fenedhis</i>— it helps. Makes it easier for those affected to <i>feel</i> everything now, so it doesn't get stuck later."</p><p>"Cathartic?" Varric offers.</p><p>"Maybe."</p><p>As though to make a point, every flinch and grimace on his face is amplified manifold, regardless of how hard he tries to keep himself in check, and he knows it shows. It's only been a few days. It still hurts. He was trying to ignore it for a while longer.</p><p>"You.. knew someone?" Blackwall asks, softly. "At the Conclave? They died?"</p><p>"A lot of people died at the Conclave," Mahanon replies even an even, stilted tone. Varric pats his elbow and Mahanon tries very hard not to think about <i>the shem'len blew up their own Chantry once, didn't they</i>. How could he have known? "Sometimes it feels like a bad dream. That any moment now I'll wake up and find that nothing really happened after all."</p><p>Solas inhales sharply in the dark. "Mages don't—"</p><p>"Don't have bad dreams, I know." Mahanon's hand, the mark, twinges. It <i>feels</i> real, this time. It felt real last time, too. In his dream. (Was it really a dream?) "But I still had it."</p><p>"My condolences." The Warden sets aside his supplies, probably no longer in the mood, for now. "Losing someone is... rough, I know. Especially if they meant—"</p><p>"Thank you," Mahanon cuts him off. Because he can't afford for the Warden to keep talking. "Thank you, Blackwall, but I can't afford to.. <i>feel</i> everything now. Stuff to do. Mages to enlist, rifts to close, refugees to reassure. I have to— I tell them I'm mourning too, just like they are, and that I'm here to help. And that's enough. Everyone's— well, not <i>happy</i>, clearly, but."</p><p>He lets out a breath. It's shaky.</p><p>Blackwall nods. "Understood. Later, perhaps. It's only healthy."</p><p>"I do love being healthy and doing healthy things. Varric can attest." Mahanon tries a smile, but it doesn't work out well. Varric chortles anyway. He looks over, to the part of the camp where the fire barely reaches. « ..Solas, may I..? »</p><p>Solas hesitates for a moment, and for a moment Mahanon is filled with a weariness that <i>aches</i>. But chances are Solas is just trying to figure out what he's saying because his Dalish is probably different from whatever Solas has heard before.</p><p>« ..Of course, Mahanon. » The sudden switch to elvish leaves Blackwall looking bewildered, but Varric is used to it now. Sort of. Mahanon ignores either of their curious glances. « I'll rearrange my things. »</p><p>« <i>Serannas</i>. »</p><p>As he rolls up his sleeping cot and takes it over to Solas' tent, he hears Varric sort of explaining, distant and muffled.</p><p>"Daisy used to do that sometimes. I didn't know why, then, not really. Wasn't hard to guess, given what was happening around her. Thought it was just her, but it looks like it might be a Dalish thing. But actually <i>knowing</i> now..."</p><p>"Aye." Blackwall sounds gruff. Thick with emotion, perhaps, all clogged up in that beard of his. "It's good, not to grieve alone... We take the comfort of company for granted until..."</p><p>"Yeah," Varric repeats. He's opened up a bottle of some shit they found in one of the apostate caches. "Yeah."</p><p>Mahanon lays down in a tent he's slowly becoming familiar with, listening to the quiet murmurs outside. Blackwall finally wiping his sword down, soft and <i>schff, schff</i>. Solas is sitting by the entrance, reading some of the things they picked up here and there by firelight, breathing measured and steady. Both of their staves are propped up together nearby. Mahanon's pack, full of iron and spindleweed, is by his head.</p><p>He breathes in, deep, and it's still shaky—</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>—Coughs out water that tastes tepid and foul, the air around him singing <i>wrong, wrong, wrong</i>.</p><p>"It's <i>waterproof</i>, too?" Dorian sputters while Mahanon wipes his face. "Is that in the formula? Or is it that wiggly fingers thing agai—"</p><p>Mahanon runs one of the Venatori through with the blade-end of his staff, throws him into the other and knocks them both down. Dorian's barrier comes half a beat late, but it's fine because his fire sigil after that is very nicely placed.</p><p>Once he's sure they're dead, he shoves them into the water because the smell of burning flesh is—</p><p>"Wiggly fingers," Mahanon says belatedly, drying himself off with the fur trim of his coat. "You've never tried it?"</p><p>"Magic on my eyeliner? Why, no, it never occurred to me. I'll have to try it sometime." Dorian looks around as he ponders, slowly taking in their surroundings. Mahanon pushes open the door of the prison they've apparently ended up in, too eager to leave. "This is red lyrium... how is it growing out of the walls?"</p><p>"It does that."</p><p>"It does— Herald, where are you going?"</p><p>"<i>Mahanon</i>."</p><p>"Right, right, sorry. Where are you going? Are you—"</p><p>Mahanon doubles over on the stairs, trying not to be sick. The air is... <i>wrong</i>. It's so wrong, he doesn't know how else to describe it other than <i>this isn't how it should be</i>.</p><p>"Is it the lyrium?" Dorian presses a hand against his back. Mahnon can barely feel it through the coat he's wearing, but it.. helps. "It feels.. wrong to me, too. Really, really wrong."</p><p>"Yeah." Mahanon spits some leftover dungeon water out and wipes his mouth. Just a bad dream. "I need.. I need to get to a window."</p><p>"Fresh air? Can't blame you, it's terrible in here."</p><p>"No, I need to see. I need to <i>see</i>—"</p><p>Fiona tells them they've lost a year of time, which confirms Dorian's theory of 'When' and Mahanon's theory of <i>'fuck you Alexius'</i>. He tries to breathe, and tries to ignore what red lyrium smells like, what a body <i>turning into</i> red lyrium smells like.</p><p>When she asks them to spare her from further suffering, Mahanon takes out a knife from his pack, the one he uses for cutting herbs and skinning game. Murmurs a sleeping spell that settles over her like freshly fallen snow. Listens to her breathing as it slows down, steadies, relaxes.</p><p>He cuts deep into the spine of her neck, where the hunters in his clan have always pointed out for a quick and painless death. Much easier when the target doesn't struggle.</p><p>"May Falon'Din guide your way," he murmurs, passing a hand over her eyes to close them, "and the Maker find you where you rest."</p><p>"You're Andrastian?"</p><p>"<i>She</i> is. Much as I dislike the Chant, she should have some comfort in her death. And I'm supposedly the Herald of the Maker's wife, so I hope he heard me."</p><p>He was hoping for a chuckle, at the very least. Instead Mahanon dips the blade into the dungeon water to rinse it off in silence, and makes a note to clean it properly once this is over.</p><p>"Let's go," he says, putting the knife away. "If Fiona's here and still alive after a year, there might be others. Ones we might be able to save."</p><p>"You're rather saviour-happy for a Dalish."</p><p>"I know, right? It's been like this ever since I got the mark. Maybe this 'Herald' thing is getting to me."</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>"Andraste have mercy." Blackwall's voice is hoarse, as though it were long disused. The red lyrium poisoning makes him sound.... bad. Worse. Mahanon tries to jiggle the lock of his prison door, but the key they found on the Venatori's corpse is rusty and doesn't fit too perfectly. "You shouldn't be here. The dead should rest in peace."</p><p>"Funny thing to say to a Necromancer," Dorian quips.</p><p>"Not helping, Recently of Minrathous," Mahanon mutters.</p><p>He coats the key with a bit more ice, shapes it ever so slightly until the lock clicks. The door falls open and Mahanon steps back. Blackwall doesn't move.</p><p>"How? I was there, I <i>saw</i> you die." The Warden looks at him, looks over him, like he's trying to see if anything is different. Out of place. Or if Mahanon is really just as he remembered a year ago. "Nothing left but a pile of ashes."</p><p>"Let's just say Alexius sent us into a rift a year ago.. and we got spat out just now. I know it's confusing, just bear with it." Mahanon holds out his hand. Blackwall doesn't seem to need help walking, but.. perhaps a physical reminder would help more than words. "We found Fiona. She's resting peacefully."</p><p>"Aye." Blackwall's shoulders drop as he sighs. He pulls them back up again and takes Mahanon's arm, gripping just a tad too tight. It's working, though. Reality is solid. "If only we all could."</p><p>"There'll be time for that later, I promise," Mahanon says against the rising nausea. Blackwall may not have red lyrium growing out of him yet, but it's already inside him, in the red glow of his eyes. Already too late.</p><p>They find some spare armor and weapons in storage containers around the dungeon. Blackwall gears up in whatever fits him best. The shield is a little shabby; wood and leather, instead of the onyx plated one they had managed to procure before all this happened. Must've been tossed when he was captured.</p><p>Varric is in another room. Bianca is nowhere in sight. He'll probably have to make do with a regular bow, or some knives.</p><p>"Andraste's sacred knickers." Varric takes one look at them and sighs. "What happened? How did you escape?"</p><p>"We didn't escape," Dorian tries to explain. "Alexius sent us forward in time."</p><p>Varric stares at him for a bit, then turns that same look on Mahanon. "..Everything that happens to you is weird, Glimmer."</p><p>"You've noticed that too, huh?" Mahanon uses the same key to unlock the door, then does the same thing he did with Blackwall, holding out his hand. "I'd ask how you're doing, but I think the answer is 'dreadful'."</p><p>"Dreadful sounds boring." Varric doesn't hesitate to take it. "Bet it sounds better in elvish. There an elven word for that?"</p><p>"<i>Telamaan</i>." Mahanon scratches the shaved side of his head. "Or you could use <i>fen irmes pargail</i>. Replace <i>fen</i> with someone's name and you're set."</p><p>"That.. doesn't roll off the tongue very well. What's it mean?"</p><p>"Wolf's sweaty balls."</p><p>"Hah!" Varric snorts loudly as Dorian makes an aborted noise. Blackwall is pretending he can't hear them. "I can't believe you'd actually say that."</p><p>"Well, why not? What did you think <i>fenedhis</i> meant?"</p><p>"<i>No—</i>"</p><p>"It's 'wolf cock'."</p><p>"Maker, I don't think I can look at you and Solas the same again." Varric let out a heavy breath of realization. "Ever. Haven't seen or heard from him in a while."</p><p>"Well, let's see if we can't find him somewhere." Mahanon pats him on the shoulder. "You can show him what new words you've learned."</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>Solas pinches the bridge of his nose. Varric chuckles, far too self-satisfied. Dorian's trying not to laugh and Blackwall... his beard is twitching.</p><p>"It's <i>wet</i>," Mahanon says in their defense. He even points to all the water on the ground. "And it smells. It's dreadful."</p><p>"Balls don't smell like this," Dorian mutters into the hand he has over his mouth.</p><p>"They all smell the same to me," Mahanon rebuts. Dorian makes another noise. "Let's go. We'll see what we can find to arm you guys with. Then we'll go after Alexius."</p><p>"You will want to find Leliana." Solas also does not hesitate to grasp Mahanon's arm as he steps out of the cell. He holds on a little longer than the others did before letting go. "The Venatori did not speak to us often, but they would not shut up about it when they caught her."</p><p>"Caught Leliana? Then what about... Cassandra? The Commander?" Mahanon goes quiet. "..What happened to Haven?"</p><p>Solas looks sad. Or some version of sad, where he's sorry for what happened and wished he could do it over. That's what Mahanon feels, anyway, which is a bit ironic.</p><p>"..Let's find somewhere to sit down."</p><p>Mahanon takes a deep breath, nose wrinkling. "Okay."</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>Leliana won't talk to them. Mahanon was the same way when he woke up weeks ago, after that.. really awful dream. The dream that might not have been a dream. The nightmare that wasn't a nightmare. It's fine.</p><p>This will be fine. This—</p><p><i>This world is an abomination,</i> Solas said. <i>It must never come to pass.</i></p><p>Mahanon closes a rift in the courtyard, one that hasn't been closed in over a year, and finally gets a look at the sky. It's... green. Cloudy, dull, and acid green in the center. The Breach covers the entire visible sky. No rifts have been closed for a year. Not attempts made to close the Breach, either. Not with the mark and its Herald missing.</p><p>Demons, everywhere. Calling this world an 'abomination' is fitting, in the very literal sense of it.</p><p>Alexius is not easy to defeat and his barriers are obscenely dense, but they have three mages and Mahanon is a damn skilled healer. At the very least, they don't die. Not to Alexius.</p><p>No, instead, they'll die defending the door to the throne room as this Elder One sends wave after wave of demons and Venatori against them. They'll die fighting pawns. They're already dead.</p><p>Mahanon thinks he'll go mad from the stress, listening to Leliana's prayers and the sound of her steady pacing by the door. The air thrums with energy, pulsing like the beat of a heart, and his mark crackles in tandem with it.</p><p>Something roars outside the castle. He lifts his head up.</p><p>"They are coming," Leliana says, steel in her voice. She nocks her bow. "How is the spell?"</p><p>Dorian doesn't answer, too focused on manipulating the runes and symbols hovering over the amulet. One wrong pattern and they could end up even further in time instead of going back.</p><p>"Almost there," Mahanon answers in his stead. He might not be Circle-educated, and those might not even be any sort of runes he's seen before, given that it's a Tevinter spell, but he knows magic. It feels close. The door rattles and he pushes to his feet. "I'll throw a barrier on you, Leliana."</p><p>"Don't," Dorian cuts in without lifting his gaze. "The spell is localized and I have to focus it onto our life signs so nothing else comes through with us. If you're not here when it's done, it'll backfire and—"</p><p>"And we die, of course, it's always something isn't it." Mahanon rubs his face.</p><p>He paces in a very small circle, anxious and impatient. The noise outside is getting louder. Just a bad dream. It's just a bad dream. It's just a—</p><p>The door breaks down and an arrow hits Leliana, the sound of it louder than normal. Mahanon raises his staff, ready to throw up a barrier on her if she keeps backing up closer to them. Or on themselves if any of the enemies come too close for comfort. Just a few more steps. A few more.</p><p>The barrier weaves itself upon her skin, deflecting what might have been a fatal blow. Leliana breaks her bow using it like a sword when she runs out of arrows, and then picks up an actual sword that was dropped by a Venatori warrior. Mahanon hasn't moved from his spot, watching, ready to throw another spell to help her hold the tide at bay for just a little bit longer.</p><p>An archer aims at him and Dorian, but he's too busy watching Leliana to notice.</p><p>Something rams into his shoulder, knocks him off balance. He stumbles forward.</p><p>"<i>Kaffas</i>, Herald, don't mo— Herald? Herald!"</p><p>"Hurry up with that spell!" Mahanon hisses. He blocks a sword with his staff and kicks the Venatori agent back, ducking another arrow aimed at his head. There's too many in the hall and Leliana has been pushed out of the choke point at the door. They should've had Blackwall stand there instead. "Don't worry about me, I can heal myself when we get—"</p><p>"Done!" Dorian uses a Mind Blast wave to create some more distance between them and the enemy. He grabs Mahanon by the arm.</p><p>Mahanon looks at Leliana one last time.</p><p>She has backed up even more, struggling to fight off a demon. She cries out when one of them grabs her by the neck, holding her aloft. Twisting around, she's just barely able to lock eyes with Mahanon before a blade goes through her gut. He can't breathe. He can't—</p><p>A Venatori seems to materialize out of thin air in front of him— or rather like he hadn't realized anyone was there until just now. The warrior lunges.</p><p>Mahanon stands there, stunned, until Dorian bodily hauls him backwards into the rift and the sword slides out of his belly. The world spins, sounds distorting. Screaming. Leliana?</p><p>"It's over, Alexius," Dorian announces, his voice triumphant and hazy. Then dissolving into shock and panic. "Herald?"</p><p>And Mahanon is in the grand hall again, the fireplace roaring, and immediately crumples to the ground. Dorian presses on the wound over his belly as Mahanon tries to muster up enough mana to heal himself. It hurts to breathe and he can't move his shoulder.</p><p>A massive pulse of magic sends all of them toppling to the ground, the others falling away from him with varying outcries. Mahanon lays there, gasping, trying to get up. He can't. Did the blade chip his spine?</p><p>Alexius' looming shadow falls over him, his staff raised. Face set in grim determination even as Felix pleads with him.</p><p>"Indeed, it's over, Herald. But not for <i>me</i>."</p><p>"Mahanon!"</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>...</p><p>
  <i>...careless....</i>
</p><p>...</p><p>
  <i>pay attention.</i>
</p><p>To what? Pay attention to what?</p><p>
  <i>everything.</i>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>He wakes up. It's warm. A bit damp. Sleeping cot feels scratchy on his—</p><p>He sits up. The tent is empty but judging by the sounds outside, they're still eating. Mahanon pulls up his shirt, hand pressed over his belly. There's a scar there, where the blade plunged into him. And now that he's looking, there are numerous smaller cuts all along his arms from when his veins burst trying to seal the Breach the— the first time. The first time.</p><p>A pockmarked scar and an ache in his shoulder.</p><p>That was not a dream. None of it was a dream.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>Rasha, Adahleni, and Shoran were meant to be his guards. Mahanon is, after all, First of clan Lavellan. Though it sounded strange to send a First, and a <i>hahren</i> no less, Keeper Istimaethoriel had good reason to.</p><p>He knew their history, he was informed, and he was not someone to be trifled with, despite being mainly a healer. There was a good chance he could convince Divine Justinia to hear him out and not have her people kill him on sight.</p><p>As Rasha said, being First did not mean being a leader, especially in his case. But it did mean that if he gave them orders, such as to <i>stay away from the temple, don't come after me, I'll be fine</i>, he could expect them to be followed. Theoretically speaking.</p><p>He was going to try again, and this time he <i>wasn't going to let them die.</i></p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>It's dark when he opens his eyes again. Distantly, Mahanon recognizes the inside of the tarp used for their tent... which is odd, because he knows he told them to leave. With the tarp. And he <i>should</i> be in Haven, in cuffs, and in prison, not.. sleeping on a cot, somewhere quiet and cold, and decidedly not a prisoner. He also sees Shoran here, leaning against the side of the tent, eyes closed.</p><p>Mahanon shifting around startles him out of his sleep.</p><p>« Mahanon? <i>Hahren</i>? Thank the Creators, you're awake. »</p><p>"Shoran? What— what's going on?" Mahanon asks, hoarsely. His mouth feels dry. "Where are we? What are you doing here?"</p><p>Shoran reaches across him for a waterskin that he uncorks and holds up for Mahanon to drink from. It feels a lot better after that.</p><p>« You've been out for days, <i>hahren</i>. We almost thought you wouldn't wake up. »</p><p>"You didn't answer my question," he repeats. "Any of them."</p><p>« We're in a cave near Haven, » Shoran says with a wry smile, something about children having questions, not <i>hahren</i>. « Not too close to it. Came as quick as we could after... »</p><p>Mahanon tries to sit up, surprised. "What do you mean—"</p><p>« Wait, <i>hahren</i>, don't get up, you're still— Adahl! Need you in here! »</p><p>Too late. Pain shoots up left arm when he puts pressure on it, burning and wild. Acid green light leaps around his palm, lighting up the interior of the tent and causing a ruckus outside. The intensity of it sends him onto his side, hissing as he clutches his arm.</p><p>Adahleni bustles in with a bowl and washcloth and switches places with Shoran, who goes outside to make room in the tent. She soaks it in water, steeped with <i>feladara</i> judging by the smell, and presses it against the palm of his hand. He doesn't expect it to do anything but it surprisingly lessens the pain, if only slightly.</p><p>"I thought I told you to leave," Mahanon says through gritted teeth. "This isn't leaving."</p><p>Adahleni frowns. « Why are you speaking in Common? »</p><p>« Was I? » He coughs. « Just answer me. »</p><p>« You told us to stay nearby, and we did. Then we went in to get you. »</p><p>« To <i>get me</i>? I thought I told you not to! » He frowns. Then, understanding dawns. « ..How many people did you kill? »</p><p>She gives him a level look, like he's a few halla short of a herd. « What does that matter? We got you out, <i>hahren</i>. They were holding you prisoner! In a cell! While you were <i>sick</i>! »</p><p>« That doesn't mean you can <i>slaughter your way</i> into Haven! »</p><p>Adahleni growls, but looks adequately repentant. « ..We <i>didn't</i>. »</p><p>Mahanon squints at her.</p><p>« ..Knocked a few of them out, of course. After what happened to the temple.. » She avoids his gaze. « We didn't feel up to killing. Would've, they deserved it, but there was so much death there already, and you... you survived! And you got.. this thing. And out there... »</p><p>It sounds about normal, except for the part where his guards, as guards do, barged in and extracted Mahanon out of a grieving city looking for someone or something to blame for what happened. Chances are they were going to blame the elves. More specifically, the Dalish who just so happened to survive.</p><p>« Does it hurt? » she asks when the mark flares up again. It still hurts. « You were screaming so much when we brought you back, it was so hard keeping you quiet. And that thing.. it wouldn't stop. Doing that. »</p><p>« It does that. »</p><p>« Really? » She doesn't sound convinced. « ..We've only been able to calm it down with steeped <i>feladara</i>. The flat ear, he helped a lot, too. »</p><p>Flat ear? What flat ear?</p><p>« The.. the what? Who? »</p><p>« Hold on.  » She sticks her head out of the tent. "Hey, flat ear! Come on in, it's your turn!"</p><p>Mahanon stares at her in confusion until  <i>Solas</i> sticks his bald head into the tent, and then Mahanon can't help but stare at <i>him</i>.</p><p>"..What are you doing here?"</p><p>Solas pauses, showing only surprise and curiosity in the twitch of his eyebrows. Mahanon hasn't fully learned how to read him yet.</p><p>"...Keeping your hand from killing you, I believe. Have we met before?"</p><p>"Uh," Mahanon says eloquently. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else. Adahleni?"</p><p>« Yes, <i>hahren</i>? »</p><p>« Thank you, for everything. You haven't slept much, have you? » Mahanon sees the bags under her eyes, and some bruises which he suspects are from 'marching into Haven'. « Go get some rest, I'll be fine. »</p><p>« Are you.. are you sure? The flat ear— »</p><p>"Don't call him flat ear."</p><p>Both Solas and Adahleni stop what they're doing, Adahleni in the middle of wringing the cloth out, and Solas in the middle of studying his hand.</p><p>Adahleni's lips quiver. « ...But, <i>hahren</i>, he's-- »</p><p>« This is not up for debate, » Mahanon says in his very best <i>i am your elder and you will listen to me</i> voice. It used to work in the past. "Go, rest. I'll be fine."</p><p>« I... Okay. Alright. » She hands him the washcloth a little too brusquely, which he presses over his hand to keep it from acting up again. « I'll.. bring some food. There's still some left from this morning's meal, if you're hungry. »</p><p>As if to betray him, his stomach growls loudly. Being unconscious for a few days will do that. They'd probably been feeding him lyrium potions and gruel the entire time, and probably ran out of lyrium fast. He feels pretty drained.</p><p>Adahleni smiles a little and ducks out, returning shortly with another bowl and spoon for it. As she leaves again, she gives Solas a.. a look. Not quite irritated, not quite curious. Somewhat confused. To his credit, Solas doesn't respond.</p><p>Mahanon eases himself up to sit, surprisingly helped by a hand on his back that can only belong to Solas. He's not sure if Solas has always been like this, or if it's just because there are more elves around now. He leaves the bowl in his lap and eats with his right hand only, the left still soaking under the washcloth.</p><p>"May I?" Solas gestures to his hand, the marked one. "Or do you want to finish eating first?"</p><p>Vaguely, Mahanon remembers that Adan was the one who did most of the healing last time. And the time before that. (In his dreams that are not dreams anymore.) He can't imagine Solas filling in for that role. Adahleni must have done it after they got him out of Haven.</p><p>Mahanon wordlessly rolls up the sleeve of his tunic and holds his arm out. Solas takes it gently, clinically. Spreads out his palm so he can inspect the mark, fingers tracing along the edges of it as he murmurs under his breath. The flaring dies down.</p><p>As he eats, he watches Solas go over the rest of his arm. The way his hands pass over the skin, the way something <i>under</i> his skin responds, faint and green and pulsing, following as Solas moves from the shoulder back down to his palm. The pain dies down quickly to little more than an aching soreness. Solas observes his palm for a little while longer, then covers it with the washcloth again.</p><p>"Were you a warrior once?" He asks. "Before you became <i>hahren</i>? Or are you still? The callouses on your palm seem quite recent."</p><p>Solas asked that last time, too.</p><p>"I was a craftsman. Still am, sometimes." It's much easier to eat now, and Mahanon finishes off the gruel in short time. "My magic came late. I was already starting my apprenticeship with the clan craftsman when it woke up.. Didn't see the reason to stop just because of that. The children like to watch."</p><p>"Even stranger, then. That your clan would send one who is a <i>hahren</i>, a craftsman, <i>and</i> a mage to the Conclave, especially when no Dalish were invited."</p><p>"We have our reasons." Mahanon sets the bowl aside and turns his attention to Solas fully. "Is that what Cassandra sent you here for, to find out why?"</p><p>If Solas is surprised, it doesn't show. Other then a slight flicker in his eyes, which Mahanon does catch, because he's paying <i>very close attention, are you happy now</i>.</p><p>Mahanon resists the urge to wet his lips and instead picks up the waterskin for another sip. "Or Leliana, perhaps?"</p><p>"..You've done your research."</p><p>Mahanon hides a nervous swallow behind a smile. His staff is nowhere in sight, which means Not Within Easy Reach. "That's why they sent me."</p><p>Solas finally leans back, leaving Mahanon relieved in a way he hadn't expected. He looks down at Mahanon's hand again, at the mark, and seems to be.. debating something.</p><p>"Are you here for something else, then?" Mahanon flexes his fingers, to see if they'll move properly. A little stiff, but bearable. "Like.. the Breach?"</p><p>Solas' eyes bore into his own. He sits straight-backed but poised, like a bird of prey ready to take flight. Like a wolf in the undergrowth. <i>Is this Solas before the Inquisition? Before Haven?</i></p><p>"..The explosion created a tear above the Conclave, yes. The Breach. I theorized that whatever left the mark on your hand might also have a connection to the Breach. And to the rifts that have subsequently formed."</p><p>Mahanon lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers. "You mean to use this 'mark' to close them."</p><p>"You are either very quick-witted, or you know more than you care to say."</p><p>"I think I am the one solution to fixing this mess." Probably. He never managed to before.</p><p>Solas exhales, slow and heavy. This seems to be about more than just the Breach to him, but damned if Mahanon had any idea what he was thinking. "..How much do you know, then?"</p><p>Mahanon tests the words on his tongue first, rolling them around in his head. How much he could say and feasible get away with, without knowing how much was too much. How he should say it.</p><p>"..I know that the Elder One is behind all this. I don't have a name and I don't know what he wants." He ticks down a finger, ignoring every one of Solas' twitches. As he speaks, he ticks them down one by one. "I know that trying to close the Breach with blood magic is a bad idea. I know that at this very moment, a Tevinter Magister has allied with a cult called the Venatori and will try to rewrite the past by snapping up the rebel mages. I know that if the Magister is not stopped and the Breach is not closed, the Elder One will have the Empress of Orlais killed and invade it with an army of demons."</p><p>Solas' eyebrows rise up slowly, higher and higher, though the rest of his expression doesn't change. Maybe he's treating it like a very preposterous dream. It <i>sounds</i> outlandish enough, even to Mahanon. He still thinks it was all a dream, sometimes.</p><p>"..Anything else?" Lips quirked. Solas seems to be humoring him. "No portents of the end of the world? No descent of the Maker, the revival of the Creators, the eradication of the Blight?"</p><p>"No.. I always die before it gets to that part. I think most dreams are like that, aren't they?" With a soft chuckle, Mahanon leans back against the side of the tent, which just so happens to be against the cave wall. "Always ending before they get to the good parts."</p><p>"Indeed." Solas relaxes, shoulders dropping a tad. He reaches out for the washcloth, dips it into the bowl, and wrings it out before replacing it on Mahanon's palm. "What part do your friends here have in this dream of yours? Saving the world by your side? I suppose that is more in line with what most young elves dream about."</p><p>"They die," Mahanon says without preamble, hushed and strained. Solas' hand freezes over his own. "They die in the explosion, and I live on. Angry, old, and alone."</p><p>It still hurts. Even though they're alive now (this time), it hurts just to see them. To know that this is what could have happened last time (in his dreams) if he heeded his own thoughts. If he had been more cautious, more careful.</p><p>A pressure around his hand makes him look over. Solas lets go quickly, takes his hands back, and the pressure is immediately gone. "They said that you told them to stay behind."</p><p>Mahanon nods. "They were supposed to come to the Temple with me."</p><p>"..You saved them."</p><p>"And they probably killed someone getting me out of Haven."</p><p>"Well.. I can only assure that they did not. Though you have nothing but my word."</p><p>"I'll take your word for it." Mahanon chuckles. It's probably a weird thing to say to someone he's only supposedly just met, especially when Solas is a Not Dalish Hedge Mage. "And... thanks. For easing the mark."</p><p>Solas starts to say something, then snaps his mouth shut. Is he still suspicious? Does he believe Mahanon? <i>Actually</i> believe that he.. is from the future? Or knows of the future? Dreams of it? (is it still a dream if he wakes up with new scars each time?)</p><p>"..To Haven, then?" he says instead.</p><p>Mahanon nearly answers <i>yes</i> too quickly. Anything to get this over and done with. Whatever difference was made by his companions rushing to his defense could very well alter this life/dream/reality beyond what he's aware of. He'll have to move quickly. Stay on top of it.</p><p>"I.. should tell the others. Why we're going."</p><p>"A <i>hahren</i> explaining himself? My, what is the world coming to."</p><p>Mahanon snorts. "Have you ever been accosted by a dozen little children all asking 'why' until you tell them?"</p><p>Some sort of expression flickers over Solas' face. A memory, perhaps, and not a good one. Mahanon understands. He gets them all the time.</p><p>"..Yes. I have."</p><p>The only response Mahanon can muster is a silent nod.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>(If someone one (read: Varric) were to ask Mahanon to retell this story in the future, he would fabricate much of the details. In all honesty, his memory of this 'repeat', as he called it, tapered off after returning to Haven.</p><p>Yes, they convinced Cassandra and the others to let a group of Dalish into Haven, to close the rifts, to join and act on the Inquisition's behalf, because the world was just that deep in shit.</p><p>Yes, they stopped Alexius. Barricaded Redcliffe and drove him all the way back to Tevinter. Dorian was quite put out at having nothing to do, but relieved that Felix could stay for however long he had left. They recruited the mages posthaste.</p><p>Yes, they sealed the Breach. He's doesn't recall the exact process, but he can recall the designs of several dozen Dalish clan Keeper and First staves now, beyond what he'd seen at the last Arlathvhen.</p><p>The night following that was remarkably uneventful, aside from the celebrations. The dawn leading up to morning was eerie and quiet. He and Solas stayed up the entire time keeping watch, searching for any hint of this 'Elder One', of which Mahanon suspected Solas knew about more than he let on but did not feel the need to question.</p><p>Haven accepted more and more refugees, and they were joined by more and more Dalish clans, all eager to aid the Inquisition with one of their own at the helm. Resources stretched themselves thin, but they managed. The Dalish always manage.</p><p>The invitation from Orlais to attend peace talks, in light of how he managed to temporarily unite humans and Dalish as well as sealing the Breach <i>without</i> siding with either side of the war, smelt of... little cakes. That's what he would tell Varric, if Varric ever asked. The invitation smelled like little cakes, the one they served at their fancy parties. Nauseatingly sweet.</p><p>The rest of the Winter Palace is just red.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>(Likewise, Mahanon pretends the fourth 'cycle' never happened. Because try as he might, he remembers absolutely nothing about it.</p><p>Except that it was cold. And it was very, very, very hard to breathe.</p><p>Also very, very red.)</p><p>Just as well that he didn't remember.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>
  <i>..no...</i>
</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>Which reminds him, the only two things he got out of those 'cycles' were</p><p>
  <i>..don't.. eat.. that...</i>
</p><p>and</p><p>
  <i>breathe. <b>breathe</b>... don't forget.. to breathe....</i>
</p><p>Two fairly useless pieces of advice from Creators knows what and Void knows where.</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>But he wakes up and immediately remembers to <i>breathe, don't forget to breathe</i>, and the sound of his gasping breaths wakes the whole camp up. He's crying, too, he doesn't know why he's crying, why his chest hurts, why he's clawing at his tunic to open it up because it's too tight around his neck—</p><p>It's an hour before everything calms down. Rasha, who is sharing his tent, doesn't intend to go back to sleep. None of them do, actually, Mahanon can see it in their eyes. Concern.</p><p>He coughs and has trouble breathing again.</p><p>« ..We are never drinking Chasind Sack Mead after this, » Shoran grumbles once it dies down a second time, half weary and half worried. « Anyone else drink that stuff yesterday? »</p><p>Someone coughs. Sounds like Rasha, but Mahanon isn't sure.</p><p>« <i>Hahren</i>, what happened? » Adahleni passes him the waterskin so he can rinse his mouth out after nearly retching from trying to breathe. « Don't tell me it was the mead. »</p><p>« Bad dream, » he croaks out, his throat feeling dry and hoarse. « I know. Mages don't.. it was just. Bad— bad memories. »</p><p>« This hasn't happened before, » Rasha states bluntly. She's the oldest among them, closest to Mahanon in age. Maybe older. Known him longest. Or known <i>of</i> him, anyway. « Your sleep has always been peaceful. »</p><p>« Yes, well, not anymore. Stress, I imagine. »</p><p>« About the Conclave? » Rasha <i>tsk</i>s. « I knew it was a bad idea to go. Hundreds of templar and rebel mages, and the Keeper wants to send <i>just you</i>? You must have angered her somehow, <i>hahren</i>. »</p><p>« I don't recall, » is all Mahanon manages before the urge to retch claws through his stomach again, bells ringing in his head. It's giving him a headache and he doesn't know why. « Creators, my head is killing me. »</p><p>« ...Alright. » Rasha stands, patting him on the shoulder. She heads out of the tent. « We're not moving today. Mahanon isn't feeling well and this place is hidden enough, we can afford to stay for another day. Or at least a few more hours. Don't pack up everything, but if you don't need it, put it away. Adahl, something for headaches if we have it. »</p><p>« I haven't packed the powdered ginger yet. That should do it. »</p><p>« Good. Shoran, get the day's rations laid out and then take up sentry. I'll come replace you by noon. »</p><p>« Got it. »</p><p>Adahleni comes in shortly with a bowl of ginger paste which she rubs over his forehead. It has a marginal effect. The rest of the paste she dilutes with more water for him to drink, for the nausea. Once his stomach settles enough, Adahleni helps him outside for some fresh air, and he sits under a tree, listening to the forest wake up around him.</p><p>It's still dawn, which (if memory serves) is different from the previous times. He would always be asleep until late in the morning.. assuming this was still the same day as before.</p><p>It's still dawn, which (and let's be honest his memory has taken a shit nosedive lately) is the same time they left to close the Breach. Because leaving at dawn means things get done sooner, and there is an entire day left to do whatever. Like party. And attend parties. And die?</p><p>It's still dawn, which (Mahanon can't blame age because Keeper Istimaethoriel is older than he is and <i>still</i> remembers far too many embarrassing things that Rasha did as a child)</p><p>It's still dawn.</p><p>It's still dawn.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>PAY ATTENTION</i>
</p><p> </p><p>« We're going back. »</p><p>Rasha stares at him. Morning isn't over yet, Mahanon hasn't even washed off the ginger paste from his forehead. The smell is comforting.</p><p>« ..Are you sure, Mahanon? Once we're on the ship, it's too late to turn around and make it to the Conclave in time. »</p><p>« If we go to the Conclave, » Mahanon says, tasting sweetleaf and bile in his words, « we will die. »</p><p>He is more sure of this than anything else in his life. He has to be. It happened four times already (did it?). Color him weary, but Mahanon doesn't want to see if number five goes the same way.</p><p>Whomever these things are that keep sending him back here, to this place and this time, maybe They want him to save his companions. Maybe They don't <i>want</i> him at the Conclave (<i>not enough power</i>), maybe They want him to hightail it back to the clan and save <i>them</i> instead.</p><p>(<i>you're being careless</i>)</p><p>He's getting a bit on in years to be playing hero, anyhow.</p><p>« We're going, » he says again. Firm. Keeper's First. « I'll take full responsibility if the Keeper is upset. »</p><p>« Are you going to explain why, at least? » Rasha gestures to Adahleni and Shoran, who have been lolling about at the camp. « You know they'll ask. »</p><p>« Give it a few days and they won't. Halfway to Ostwick, I imagine. »</p><p>« ...Alright, » Rasha finally says after a minute of thought. He knows she was expecting, hoping, to spend more time away from the clan as a means of distraction from the grieving. Her <i>vallas'belathe</i> hasn't faded yet. « If you say so, First Mahanon. »</p><p>Adahleni is confused, to say the least, while Shoran peppers Mahanon with <i>why? why aren't we going? i wanted to see, i wanted to go!</i> Mahanon tactfully does not answer.</p><p>Everything is packed up, their tracks are swept clean, fire doused and buried. Mahanon picks a handful of flowers nearby and arranges them on the mound, pointing towards Haven. It's the least he can do.</p><p>Someone else will survive. Won't they? He tries to remember. Had there ever been anyone else roaming the Temple before the Conclave? Surely there had to be, other spies, other clans, other people. Someone would stop the Elder One.</p><p>.. But what if there wasn't?</p><p>He glances over at the others, ready and waiting under the eaves of a tree. No path will take them back. Too many sentries, too much fighting. They have to roam the woods with intuition as their guide, and also the smell of the sea to point the way.</p><p>What if he stopped it again?</p><p>It's too late now. They wouldn't arrive in time, and that sets his shoulders straight. He won't make it in time anyway. Go home. Comfort the children. Prepare them for the worst.</p><p>« Let's go home. »</p><p>There's no way this will reach all the way to the Free Marches. Will it?</p><p>Can they even see the Breach from behind the Vinmark Mountains?</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>They're on the boat to Ostwick when the sky lights up green near the horizon. The force of the explosion doesn't reach here from Haven, but he imagines, remembers, what it sounds like. Something like the flaring and closing of a rift, sucking and sparking, spitting. Something big and loud. Tearing. Thrumming, the way the Breach sounds whenever he was close by, pulling on him and everything around it— or maybe it was only ever just him.</p><p>Shoran and Adahleni, the youngest in their group, both reach out for his hands. He holds them as they watch through the window of the hold, hiding from other passengers who might do them harm. The captain agreed to smuggle them to Ostwick, but won't deign to feed them or give them somewhere to sleep. They have their own food, and they can find places to bed down where no one will look.</p><p>They have each other. They are alive.</p><p>Divine Justinia has died again.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>Keeper Istimaethoriel does not scold them. Or rather, she looks as though she might have wanted to. Then her eyes drift up, and up. The Breach is so high in the sky, giving the clouds a faint green glow. A party of hunters scaled the Vinmarks and brought back reports of a hole, little more than a green dot in the distance, but still visible from across the sea.</p><p>The Keeper's Second eyes them, unpleased but silent. She has always felt threatened by his presence, but it wasn't something he could do anything about, not especially now that he's back with the clan.</p><p>Rumors told them the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded. Thousands dead. Dozens of Lavellan elves waiting apprehensively, unsure if they should write and ask for Mahanon, or Rasha, or Shoran, or Adahleni.</p><p>When they return, Misyl throws herself into his arms and he lets her hold him tight, despite the grease on her apron and singed bits of her hair. Shoran and Adahleni are both greeted by their parents with tears and relief. Rasha's mother-in-law takes her hand in greeting.</p><p>« We did not go to the Conclave, » Mahanon tells the Keeper over his daughter's head. « I made the decision to return. »</p><p>She does not question why. « When did you turn back? »</p><p>« After landing in Ferelden. »</p><p>The Keeper nods. She looks between him and Rasha. « I'd like to speak with both of you, when you're ready. »</p><p>« Of course, Keeper, » Mahanon and Rasha say in unison.</p><p>One of them is relieved to be home. The other is dreading it.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>(How they managed to explain things to the Keeper, he doesn't recall. There was a lot of talk about 'dreams' and 'visions', and a test to make sure neither of them had been possessed in light of the information about the veil tearing and demons coming through.</p><p>Also in light of that, they began strict training regimens for all able-bodied elves who weren't already apprenticing in crafts. He didn't know if the rifts would appear this far north, but if they did, the clan would have to be ready. They wouldn't be able to close any rifts, but they could at least fight the demons until the clan could relocate.</p><p>He and Keeper Istimaethoriel recited all they could recall about demons, and he even more from what he had learned (what he dreamed) with the Inquisition. They would be ready, if the time ever came.)</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>(They <i>were</i> ready. For demons.</p><p>Not for the bandits. Not for the Venatori.</p><p>He wasn't ready to see his entire clan slaughtered before his very eyes.)</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>"Inquisitor." Leliana greets her as she approaches the war table.</p><p>"Good morning, Leliana. Josephine." Evelyn Trevelyan nods in their direction. She glances over to where the empty spot at the table is. ".. Where's Cullen?"</p><p>"I'm told there was an incident at the gate, which he is overseeing at the moment. Cassandra is also there."</p><p>"Can we even have a war table meeting with only half the members?" Leliana shrugs. Evelyn leans over the table to see if anything has changed since the last time. She doesn't see any notes pinned under the pieces and Josephine is still flipping through her papers. "I guess we might as well head over and see what the fuss is about."</p><p>"Putting off work, I see," Josephine tuts, but not with scorn.</p><p>"I'm sure we can make the time." With a flourish, Evelyn picks up her coat from the hanger and throws it over her shoulders. "Coming, Leliana?"</p><p>Before the Spymaster can answer, there's a knock at the door.</p><p>"Missive for you, Sister Nightingale," the agent says from the other side. "And a.. summons, for the Inquisitor."</p><p>Evelyn shares a look with Leliana and Josephine. She opens the door. "Summons for what?"</p><p>"The front gates, ser. Commander Cullen and Lady Cassandra sent me."</p><p>"We'll be there." She steps aside so that Leliana can approach. "What's the missive?"</p><p>"Report on Wycome, my lady." The agent holds out a rolled up piece of paper bearing the mark of the Inquisition. One sent from their own rookery, and never opened.</p><p>"Wycome?" Leliana takes the missive. "What news?"</p><p>"None. No response from Wycome at all. This one we sent was never delivered, the raven came back with it."</p><p>"It's been months since we asked after Wycome." Leliana unrolls the paper, just to confirm the contents. "They said they were having problems with the local Dalish. We haven't heard anything from them since."</p><p>"We have now," the agent continues. "That raven came back by aravel, ser. With a Dalish."</p><p>"..I guess that's what's been keeping Cullen and Cassandra," Evelyn exhales. "I'll head over first then. Leliana, Josephine?"</p><p>"We'll catch up," Leliana concedes.</p><p>Evelyn Trevelyan hurries out of the war room, through the throne room, down the stairs. As she crosses the bridge to the front gate, she sees Cassandra pacing and Cullen trying to argue with someone.</p><p>"..can't let you in if you won't let us check the aravel."</p><p>"Not until I can speak with the Inquisitor."</p><p>"Inquisitor Trevelyan is on her way." Cassandra. "In the meantime, if you want to enter Skyhold, we must search your aravel. It is a matter of security."</p><p>A growl. "<i>Not</i> without the Inquisitor present."</p><p>Cassandra's answering sigh is frustrated and long-suffering. Evelyn Trevelyan shakes her head with a small smile.</p><p>"Commander, Cassandra," she announces as she nears them. Cullen turns and nods in greeting. "What's the commotion?"</p><p>"Inquisitor." The Commander steps aside. Though she'd been able to see the aravel from afar, only now can she see the elf and lone halla standing in front of it. "Our guest here wanted to speak with you and to enter Skyhold. He won't let us search the aravel without you present."</p><p>"Well, I'm here now." She glances at the elf. "You are?"</p><p>"Mahanon," the elf says, sounding far too old and weary. He leans on his staff as though it were a walking stick, and the only thing keeping him upright. "Keeper of clan Lavellan."</p><p>"Lavellan?" It sounds familiar, but she doesn't recognize it from any of the recent reports. "Seeing as you brought back a raven we sent to Wycome, I'd guess you're from the Free Marches?"</p><p>"I am. We found the raven loitering around one of the Inquisition outposts near Wycome when we raided it for supplies." The elf shoots Cullen a pointed look when he starts. "It was empty and abandoned."</p><p>"Sounds like something we should tell Leliana. She should be here soon." Evelyn gives Mahanon another once-over. For a Keeper, he isn't dressed too well. Then again, if he came here all the way from the Free Marches with an aravel, appearance is probably the least of his concerns. And why an aravel, anyway? "You said you wanted to enter Skyhold. Why should I let you and why wouldn't you let the Commander check the aravel? Illegal cargo?"</p><p>"<i>He isn't cargo</i>," Mahanon snarls too quickly, then backs away. Evelyn sucks in a breath. He?</p><p>"<i>He?</i>" Cullen repeats. "You have a <i>person</i> in—?!"</p><p>Before he can approach, the elf swings his staff around, blade-end pointing at Cullen like a spear despite the Inquisitor being closer. Cassandra immediately steps forward, one hand on her sword, which only sets the elf snarling again, feral-looking. She doesn't think she's ever seen a Dalish this far gone before.</p><p>"Hey, hey, no skewering Cullen." Evelyn gives him and Cassandra both a side glance. "We need him at the war table. Too many women otherwise."</p><p>"Thank you, Inquisitor," Cullen says dryly, but still holds both hands up to show he means no harm. He lowers his voice. "Look, Keeper Mahanon, if you want to enter Skyhold, we have to check the aravel. No offense. It's a security measure, even more so if you have a person back there. I imagine it's quite cold in there, so I understand why you're pressing for entry. But this is for the safety of everyone already in Skyhold as well."</p><p>Evelyn catches the eyes of the nearby agents and gestures for them to head inside. They hesitate, but ultimately comply. Cassandra stays despite Evelyn trying to motion her away. Still, it seems like it's enough. </p><p>Mahanon drops the tip of his staff a few inches, eyes darting between Cullen and Cassandra and the Inquisitor, but he doesn't lower it completely.</p><p>Then there's a whimper from inside the aravel. And the halla snorts, turning back to snuffle at the wood. Mahanon's breathing grows harsher, and Evelyn sees a twist of emotion. Grief. Frustration.</p><p>"…Inquisitor," he says, quietly. "I heard you recruited the templars to help you seal the Breach?"</p><p>"That.. yes. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"What of the mages of Redcliffe?"</p><p>Evelyn stiffens. "..They joined Tevinter and ultimately the Venatori. Currently they are part of Corypheus army."</p><p>"..Inquisitor, is that a wise thing to say?" Cassandra whispers. "He <i>is</i> a mage."</p><p>"I also have ears, <i>shem'len</i>," Mahanon says with empty vitriol. But he does lower the staff until it dips into the snow. "I ask because I wasn't sure if you would recognize the signs. You would have, if you'd recruited the mages."</p><p>"Recognize what?"</p><p>The Keeper gives them all a fleeting glance before he turns and heads for the back of the aravel, gesturing for them to follow. The halla comes along.</p><p>"The Venatori came to Wycome," he says. It's a tone that speaks of finality, and it drives a stake into Evelyn's gut. "The Duke allied with them and began poisoning the wells with red lyrium. Except for the ones in the alienage. Guess who the city decided to blame."</p><p>"Duke Antoine?" Cullen says, quiet and disbelieving. "He's one of our allies, a staunch one."</p><p>"We heard from him not months ago, everything was fine," Cassandra continues. She also isn't willing to believe one of their own allies with do this. "There was no mention of illness. You cannot expect us to believe—"</p><p>"I don't care what you believe!" Mahanon whirls around, staff planted in the ground, teeth bared. "Your agents will go to Wycome and find red lyrium in every well <i>except the ones the Duke and the elves use</i>. There will be bodies <i>burnt outside their houses</i> because I didn't have time to take them anywhere else. Outside Wycome is a bloody field and all the remnants of a <i>very much dead Dalish camp</i>. The Duke's mansion had Venatori <i>everywhere</i>, which might explain why you <i>lost contact with him months ago</i>."</p><p>His arm comes up, pointing wildly to the aravel.</p><p>"And <i>then</i> you will tell that child why he and his parents and his whole <i>fucking</i> city had to die <i>for no reason</i>." Mahanon's voice is still hushed, but cracking. " I imagine you don't have a cure for red lyrium poisoning."</p><p>The meaning of his words dawns quickly, and Cullen goes pale. Cassandra inhales sharply.</p><p>"I didn't think so." The elf laughs, a broken sort of laugh. "That's fine. He already knows... He wanted to see Skyhold before he died."</p><p>Evelyn hurries to the back of the aravel, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. It looks easy to open. But it's cold, and she fumble with the ties for too long. Then the ropes come undone by themselves and the hatch falls open.</p><p>Inside is a young boy, <i>human</i>, looking like death warmed over. He's wrapped in furs and halla leather, and seems to be keeping warm next to an enchanted lamp that's emitting a considerable amount of heat. Vivienne once said she was from Wycome. Would she want to know? That this is all that's left?</p><p>"..You're the Inquisitor?" The boy asks, too soft and quiet. He sounds as weak as he looks, as sick as he looks. Evelyn responds with a nod, words stuck in her throat. "Oh. He didn't lie.. we're— we're really at Skyhold?"</p><p>"Yeah," she says, and holds out a hand. "Wanna see?"</p><p>The boy reaches out. He pulls his hand back before they touch and shakes his head.</p><p>"No? Keeper Mahanon said it's what you wanted. He even brought you all the way here, you're going to pass up this chance?"</p><p>"Mahanon is— he's very kind. He's very sad. He said.. said I can't be cured. And the more I move, the sooner I'll.." The boy trails off, fidgeting under all the covers. "I don't want to die. I don't want to leave him alone. Can't you cure me? Can't you make me better?"</p><p>"I'm sorry, Alan," Mahanon says. He comes up next to Evelyn, having grudgingly allowed Cullen to come near as well. He takes the boy's hand in his own, even if it looks painful for him to be around the child. "Red lyrium doesn't work that way.. It will just get worse no matter what we do."</p><p>Evelyn backs away. They're oddly close, for an elf and a human. Much in the way a parent cares about a child.</p><p>"Were you yelling? Why were you yelling? Are you.. angry at me? I'm sorry. I don't— please don't be angry—"</p><p>"I'm not angry at you, <i>da'len</i>, hush." Mahanon holds him just like a parent does, like the boy had a nightmare. She remembers her mother holding that way when she was young and hadn't been shipped off to the Order yet. "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at everything else."</p><p>The child sniffles. "..Are you angry at Skyhold?"</p><p>"I'm <i>very</i> angry at Skyhold," Mahanon whispers like it's a secret. Evelyn twitches and Cullen flinches slightly, but the ire has bled out of the Keeper's words. Weariness replaces it. "That's why we're here. The Inquisition will fix things. What happened to Wycome won't happen again."</p><p>"Promise?"</p><p>"I promise." The Keeper touches Alan's head, light and delicate. Evelyn looks away, at Cullen, past Cullen, who is also staring at the snow instead of the aravel. Cassandra is strong enough to keep her head up, though every muscle in her face looks tense. "I need to talk to the Inquisitor again, okay? I'll be back, <i>da'len</i>."</p><p>The back of the aravel closes, but Mahanon doesn't tie it shut again. He leans against the land-ship for a moment longer, catching his breath, which is just as well because Evelyn is having trouble getting her breathing under control too. Cullen looks like he's counting fennecs to distract himself.</p><p>"..My apologies, Inquisitor," Mahanon says, but does not explain what for. "Could we continue this inside Skyhold?"</p><p>"Of course," she says. "Commander, take them to the stables and see if we can't get them some food and water."</p><p>She doesn't consult Cullen about it and he doesn't bring it up. Instead he gives orders to the guards to make way.</p><p>"Cassandra—"</p><p>"I will tell Leliana." Her face is stiff, and her voice is surprisingly tight. Evelyn nods and Cassandra walks off briskly, bringing a hand up to her mouth for a brief moment before falling back into place.</p><p>The aravel enters Skyhold, singular and lonely, a lone elf leading it, and a lone survivor hiding inside.</p><p>Solas comes out of the castle, enticed by the commotion. Mahanon stops dead in his tracks when he sees him, the halla bumping into him at the sudden halt. A moment flickers by and the aravel continues onward.</p><p>"Who died?" Solas asks, coming to a quiet stop next to Evelyn. </p><p>"What?" She looks at him, surprised. "How did you know?"</p><p>"Know what?" Blackwall, Thom Rainier, emerges from the stables as well when he sees the aravel go by. "Who's the new guy?"</p><p>"The Dalish wear mourning marks only when someone close to them has passed," the apostate explains. "Most notably in violent, tragic deaths. A great loss, as it were. This one wears them dark and numerous."</p><p>A pause.</p><p>"...I see the rest of his clan has not followed."</p><p>"His clan is dead," Evelyn explains. She isn't quite sure if she's allowed to say, but.. she trusts her Inner Circle. If anything, she trusts them with the truth of why she'll be frustrated and pissy for the next few days. "He has a child with him, in the aravel."</p><p>"A Dalish child?"</p><p>She purses her lips. "..Human."</p><p>Solas' eyebrows go up.</p><p>Blackwall straightens up as well. "..Why does he have a human child? The Dalish don't really steal kids from their parents, do they?"</p><p>"His parents are dead, too. The whole city is dead. Wycome— Wycome was our ally, Blackwall. <i>Our ally</i>." She hisses now, in anger at herself for being so careless as much as at everything. "The Venatori got to them, the Duke poisoned his own people, the people blamed the elves in the alienage, the nobles <i>killed</i> the elves and then <i>killed the Dalish nearby too</i>, and now— and now they're <i>all dead</i>."</p><p>"..Maker's breath," Blackwall whispers. "I... then, the child..?"</p><p>"Dying," she says, also in a tight whisper. "Red lyrium. We don't have a cure."</p><p>Both men are quiet. Solas, eventually, places a hand on her shoulder.</p><p>"Perhaps we owe it to them to still try."</p><p>She nods. She can only nod.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>She and Solas knock on the door of the aravel some time later. There hadn't been time to free up one of the rooms in the mansion, and Mahanon refused one anyway. The boy, Alan, also seemed more comfortable inside the land-ship, which was odd. She had someone bring down a pillow and spare blankets regardless.</p><p>The boy is sleeping, or trying to sleep, on a bed of furs. An empty bowl sits near the door. Mahanon's is nearby, still being picked at from the looks of it.</p><p>"Inquisitor," Mahanon greets. His eyes then slide over to Solas, something clouding over his eyes before it clears up quickly.</p><p>"Mahanon," Evelyn offers as an introduction. "This is Solas. One of our mages."</p><p>"Hedge mage," Solas clarifies helpfully.</p><p>"Apostate," Mahanon clarifies even more.</p><p>"Aren't we all?" Solas looks closer and seems to recognize the staff and some of his clothing. "..Keeper Mahanon."</p><p>"An empty title," Mahanon returns.</p><p>"Aren't they all."</p><p>"How is Alan doing?" She cuts in before they can start bickering or commiserating with each other about being elves and lonely and elves that are lonely. "I understand he doesn't have much time left."</p><p>"None of us do." Mahanon looks at her, so solid and still and sure of what he says. It frightens her. From the looks of it, he's been grieving for more than just his clan, and longer. Another glance at Solas. "Why is he here?"</p><p>"We have been studying red lyrium poisoning in those we've come across," Solas says. "It is not true that Redcliffe might be the only place to encounter them, but most of those we find are.. far beyond help. We hope that Alan is not."</p><p>Mahanon looks at them, expectant and dreading what they would say at the same time.</p><p>"The templars," Evelyn says.</p><p>"No," Mahanon whispers, leaning back, and she doesn't understand why. "No, no, no...."</p><p>She continues anyway.</p><p>"You said I'd recognize red lyrium poisoning if I went to Redcliffe. I admit I did not explore that option, but.. it turned out that Lord Seeker Lucius had been replaced by a demon. The templars were being forced to consume red lyrium. Some of them still looked.. normal..." Her gaze slides over to the boy, who is most definitely only pretending to be asleep. "But many of them had already turned into horrors. Made mostly of lyrium, red lyrium, it.. grew out of them. Those fought to the death. We captured one templar, Knight-Captain Denam. His case doesn't look as severe as the boy— Alan. We think it's because he was a templar, but it's been months and he hasn't improved, either, so we'd like to have a look at Alan and see how...."</p><p>Mahanon stares. And keeps staring. And doesn't stop staring and Evelyn thinks he's— he's crying? Mahanon is crying. And worse, the black marks on his face make him look like he's.. devastated by this news. Which is odd, because she knows Mahanon is a mage, Keepers usually are, and the Dalish have little love for templars. Why is he crying?</p><p>"Don't cry," the boy says from his fur pile. Alan. He reaches out and grips Mahanon's hand. "Don't cry. You said we can't cry. We don't— we don't have time to cry. You said... you said—"</p><p>The boy starts crying too. Evelyn doesn't know what to say, or do. Even Solas looks a little lost.</p><p>"...<i>Ir abelas</i>, Keeper," he says, softly. "I am sorry for both of your losses."</p><p>Whether he really means it is not something Evelyn wants to think about. Mahanon sucks in a breath, so surely he heard the words, but if anything it just makes things worse. The Keeper turns away, leaving his back and shaking shoulders to her and Solas, holding the boy's hand instead. Mourning for something she doesn't understand, for people she'll never know.</p><p>"Inquisitor." Solas turns to her.</p><p>"I'll—" she starts, then lean backs. It's been a while since she felt this overwhelmed by raw emotion without really knowing why. "I'll be outside, Solas. Can you..."</p><p>"Yes, of course. I'll speak with them, as much as I am able to."</p><p>"Thank you. I'm sorry, I—"</p><p>He gives her a small smile and she just nods before ducking out of the aravel, easing the doors shut behind her. She hears a sound and looks up, finds Blackwall standing here. He has a dusty-looking bottle in his hand.</p><p>Evelyn debates it for about two seconds before joining him.</p><p>They share the bottle, having skipped the whole 'indirect kiss' phase early on after a lot of Killing People together, and it never really went away. A lot of the Inner Circle was like that now, something she's taken for granted. Especially when it comes to the single bottle of extremely strong whiskey and a lack of motivation to find a proper shot glass.</p><p>"No," she says after two swallows when he offers the bottle to her again. "If I have to face that kid after this I don't want to do it reeking of booze. Or anyone else when I do my inevitable walk of shame back to my room. Terrible for the Inquisition's image."</p><p>"If you cry a bit and ask the kitchen maids, they'll show you hidden passages for getting around," Blackwall suggests.</p><p>"<i>Wow.</i>" She stares at him. "Who have <i>you</i> been sneaking inside for these days? I know you weren't doing that for <i>me</i>."</p><p>".. I... uh," Blackwall says, and takes another shot-swallow of whiskey. "People."</p><p>"Right. People." She rolls her eyes. Then covers his face and groans. "Oh, no, <i>people</i>."</p><p>"I take it you had plans with Sera tonight and now you're in no state for it."</p><p>Evelyn tries not to whine.</p><p>"Who had plans with who tonight?" Sera's voice drifts up to the loft they're huddled up in. Just peachy. "Is it me? Better be me. Buckles I know you're up there, I know witnesses!"</p><p>Sera swings herself up the ladder and stops with her elbows on the loft floor, eyeing the two of them and the bottle of malt in their (Blackwall's) hands with an appalled gasp.</p><p>"I didn't get an invite! Shove off, hairy, I need room." Evelyn pulls her down on her other side so Sera doesn't have to put up with Beard. "What's this shite you're drinking up here all alone in the not-so-romantic dark?"</p><p>Evelyn opens her mouth to answer, then shuts it and buries her face in her arms.</p><p>"It's a bad day, Sera." Blackwall takes another swig. "A damned bad day."</p><p>"I should tell Vivienne," Evelyn mutters. "Someone should tell Vivienne."</p><p>"What? What are we telling her?" Sera fights Blackwall for the bottle and takes a swig from it when she wins. "I won't tell her piss, you can't make me."</p><p>"Wycome is gone."</p><p>Sera freezes for a moment. "..Wycome? What's that? Someone's horse? Sounds like a nob's horse."</p><p>"It's a city in the Free Marches," Blackwall supplied. "Allies. Was."</p><p>"Vivienne was born there," Evelyn adds. "I think she should know, she deserves to know."</p><p>"Oh that's— that's shite. What'd a city named after a rich tit's horse do? Why's it gone? Are you— Buckles are you crying?" Sera sets the bottle down, which Blackwall immediately picks up again. "Oh no no <i>no</i>, Buckles, don't cry, I don't know what to do when you cry! I'm piss all good at anything about crying!"</p><p>"Just hug and let her cry, Sera." Blackwall claps her on the shoulder, and they do hug, kind of. Sera wraps her arms around Evelyn and pats her on the back. "Hug and let her cry."</p><p><i>Was she always like this</i>, Sera mouths at Blackwall over Evelyn's shoulder. Unfortunately Blackwall is too busy knocking back another mouthful to catch it.</p><p>By the time Solas pulls himself up, Evelyn is only sniffling and drying her eyes. Instead of saying anything, he plunks himself down in front of them and holds out his hand, making a 'gimme' motion at whomever is currently holding the whiskey. Sera makes a face but hands it over.</p><p>It's empty. Solas turns the flattest stare to Sera, who sticks her tongue out at him.</p><p>"Are they okay?" is the first thing Evelyn asks.</p><p>"Keeper Mahanon is remarkably sentimental for a Dalish in the presence of a human." Which seems to have given Solas a headache, judging by how much he's rubbing his brow.</p><p>"And you're remarkably <i>not</i>," she shoots back. "..Although you did try to take a drink, so I guess you're fine."</p><p>"Indeed. They are resting now, and I have told them that you will able to meet them tomorrow morning. I presume you wanted to the full story from Keeper Mahanon, yes?"</p><p>"Yeah. We'll have Leliana send some agents there to have a look around, too. Tomorrow." She frowns. "And Cullen. We'll need to send Inquisition forces. If Wycome really is gone and the city is abandoned, the rest of the Free Marches is probably preparing to seize the land. We'll need to stop them."</p><p>Sera sits back. "Why's that any of our business?"</p><p>"..I'll tell you tomorrow morning. Along with everyone else."</p><p>"What? Not fair! How come Blackwall knows?"</p><p>"He just happened to be there when I found out. First come first serve, Sera."</p><p>"Piss!" Sera tuts. Then sniggers. "First come, eh."</p><p>"..If you really wanna talk about who 'came first', it was Solas."</p><p>"Ugh, ew!"</p><p>"I take it we are no longer on the topic of our new guest?" Solas watches Sera's cackling with an air of disapproval. "Then I shall see myself back to my quarters if there is nothing else you need, Inquisitor."</p><p>"No, anything else can wait for tomorrow. Have a good night, Solas. Try to keep Cole away from them until they've settled in a bit?"</p><p>"I will see what I can do."</p><p>Solas climbs down the ladder, and they have a few seconds of silence before he pops his head back up.</p><p>"Also, I neglected to say, he requested to join the Inquisition."</p><p>"Blackwall!" Evelyn shouts, holding up the empty bottle at a startled Blackwall who is like right beside her. "Another!"</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>The story doesn't go past the Inner Circle, and even within the Circle it's a very watered down version of the events. But everyone is affected by it one way or another. Vivienne pays the aravel a visit at some point and comes out of it remarkably subdued. Her lover died not long ago, despite all their best efforts, and now the city of her birth was gone too.</p><p>No loving memories there, she said. Her parents weren't even Free Marchers.</p><p>The Inquisition sent letters to Rivain inquiring as to the well-being of Vivienne's family, but there hasn't been a response as of yet. Everyone was starting to lose people. People they never thought they'd lose.</p><p>Such is war.</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>"Are we sure he is even fit for duty?" Cassandra asks. "Revenge is a good motivator, but will it get in the way of following orders? Who will he take orders from? <i>Will</i> he take orders?"</p><p>"That remains to be seen," Leliana says. "We do not know if he was originally the clan's Keeper, or came to be Keeper after the others died. If he is more accustomed to leading, perhaps he will work better as a solitary agent. If he is willing to follow.. Even if, with his markings, I do not think joining myself or Josie would be a good idea. He is far too eye-catching. One can tell he is Dalish at a glance."</p><p>"We could use him as a liaison to other Dalish clans," Josephine suggests. "We are not on friendly terms with many of them, neutral at best. This is the first time that one has approached us freely. Perhaps, with his help, we can convince others to ally with us."</p><p>"Considering we let Morrigan to drink from the Well of Sorrows, I don't think that will go over well with the Dalish if they find out," Evelyn muses. "Solas wasn't very happy about it, I can't imagine how the Dalish will take it. The question is whether they'll find out."</p><p>"A single Dalish elf may not fit in well with the Inquisition's current forces." Cullen shakes his head. "I don't know what kind of magic he specializes in, but the rest of our mages are Circle-trained, for the most part. The soldiers are also more accustomed to Circle-trained mages. Adding in a Keeper who uses magic they know nothing about may cause more harm than good."</p><p>"Then I guess we'll just have to ask him. If he wanted to join so badly, he must have an idea of what he wants to do from here on out." Evelyn sighs. She heads out of the war room to find an agent who can pass on the summons.</p><p>Within minutes, Keeper Mahanon arrives at the war room, looking not much more rested than Evelyn feels.</p><p>"Inquisitor," he greets with a marginal bow. "Is there something I can help you with?"</p><p>"We were.. trying to see where you would fit in as an agent. Which department you might flourish in." She refrains from saying anything that might have implied 'the humans at the table are trying to slot you, a Dalish, into one of our departments without consulting you'. "Did you have something in mind when you planned on joining?"</p><p>Mahanon slants his head, looking around the room. His gaze lands on each of them in turn.</p><p>"..I would not make a good liaison. They would ask why I joined, and the truth would do little convince them to be your ally. Tends to happen when <i>shem'len</i> actions lead to the death of an entire clan and a whole city."</p><p>Josephine stiffens slowly and clears her throat.</p><p>To Leliana, he says, "I am not trained in stealth or scouting. As you may have realized, I'm a Keeper, a mage. Even if I could disguise myself and hide my <i>vallas'lin</i>, I don't operate as well without my magic, and it would be a waste of my abilities."</p><p>"Ah, but you could be trained," Leliana comments. "It is an option if you are willing to take it."</p><p>Evelyn is starting to find it uncanny how Mahanon seems to be able to guess what they were discussing. Or how he knows their responsibilities in the Inquisition so well. Did the rumors include her advisors?</p><p>Mahanon nods. Then, to Cullen, "I know basic spells, but my primary focus is spirit healing."</p><p>"I." Cullen blinks. Blanches, for a moment, like he's recalling something.. not quite good. But he manages to pull past it and respond in something like a normal tone of voice, even if it takes the look in his eyes a bit longer to catch up. "..Oh. Well, that.. does change things a bit. We could greatly reduce losses and injuries to the soldiers with you around. Even moreso if you're comfortable being on the field during battle. Could mean the difference between life and death for many."</p><p>"Ooooooorr you could run around with me." Evelyn wedges her own invitation in between the others.</p><p>"That is hardly fair, Inquisitor," Josephine chides. Evelyn whistles innocently. "He may as well take that as an order."</p><p>"Well I haven't formally <i>joined</i> the Inquisition yet, have I?" Mahanon raises an eyebrow. A very dark, very boldly painted eyebrow. "So it's not an order and I can still just walk out and leave."</p><p>"Ooh, spunk. I like it. He's coming with me, I'll fight all of you for it."</p><p>"Now <i>that</i> is unfair, Inquisitor," Leliana sighs."But the decision is not up to you, is it?"</p><p>Evelyn turns to Mahanon again. "Well, Keeper? What do you think of our offers?"</p><p>The Keeper's expression goes distant, and for a moment Evelyn thinks he might start crying again. She can hardly blame him, even if it makes his qualifications a little more tenuous. But he snaps out of it quickly enough.</p><p>"..I would be honored to join the Inquisition, Inquisitor. And I would be honored to.. travel with you and yours."</p><p>"Excellent." Evelyn claps her hands together, earning a set of exasperated looks from the others. "What? You guys always say we're getting hurt too much. Having a healer there could really save our skins. Plus, the final battle will be here soon enough. We need all the help we can get. Right, Cassandra?"</p><p>"..Of course, Inquisitor. If you say so."</p><p>"Welcome to the Inquisition, Keeper Mahanon," Evelyn says, holding her hand out. She hopes the Dalish do handshakes. "I hope we all live to see the end of this war."</p><p>Mahanon stares at her hand for a moment, and does eventually take it.</p><p>"As do I, Inquisitor Trevelyan."</p><p> </p>
<p> </p><p>Of course, everyone knows the healer is a prime target.</p><p>When they finally face off against Corypheus, Mahanon is the first one to die.</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>He wakes again. Above him, the now all-too-familiar inside of the tarp that serves as a tent. His chest hurts where Corypheus ran him through with a spear of red lyrium.</p><p>His heart hurts even more. Almost wishes he couldn't see the inside of this tent.</p><p>Because then he could pretend he was still asleep. Still dreaming. Pretend those voices outside are just the healers and infirm in Skyhold, doing their best to patch everyone up after the battle.</p><p>Pretend he was still alive. Pretend he never died.</p><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p><p>
  <i>...sees... he sees. he looks.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>keeps seeing. why does he keep seeing. it doesn't matter anyway.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>he doesn't want to look</i>
</p><p>
  <i>stop looking. don't look.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>stop seeing</i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <b>make him stop looking</b>
  </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* in the below list means i squashed words from the lexicon together</p><p>adahleni: friend of the forest.<br/>rasha: dark cloud, lit. "dark, cloudy, foggy or misty."<br/>shoran: happiness of the journey. alt. shora (f)<br/>misyl: blade of the sky</p><p>*eral’din: one who sleeps like the dead. From eral (sleeping) + din (death, dead)<br/>feladara: elfroot<br/>Fen'harel ver na: dread wolf take you (though ideally i'm looking for a translation of 'don't jinx it/us' so this might change later. invoking fen'harel seemed apt since he's associated with trickery and such)<br/>eolasan: 'i understand'. also means 'okay'.<br/>*vallas'belathe/ithast'belathe: 'the mark of one's loss / the sight of grief.' from vallas/ithast+ebelathe, hopefully mashed correctly lit. 'writing+grief/mourning' and 'sight+grief/mourning'<br/>serannas: shortened form of 'ma serannas', which is 'thank you' or 'thanks'.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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